


Generation Lost

by Daryl_Grimes (Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, BigBrother!Merle, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, Papa!Merle, Teen!Daryl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4053262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/pseuds/Daryl_Grimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl Dixon has always been different. With his icy blue eyes, white-blond hair, and skinny frame, he's always been the black sheep of the Dixon clan.</p><p>But his looks aren't the only thing that set him apart from his brother, father and mother.</p><p>Older, trying to get past the idea of being a freak, and living with his big brother away from his abusive Father, the red neck needs to navigate through the harsh reality of high school.</p><p>Teenagers can be cruel, but Daryl can't even imagine the pain and hurt that is to come his way as he matures through the school system.</p><p>Maybe, just maybe, Daryl needs his big brother more than he originally thought. And perhaps, Merle needes his little brother more then he ever knew.</p><p>(33 chapters is an estimate from my plot - chapter number may be subject to change)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Daryl had always been different, Merle mused, watching the thirteen year old pouring over his textbook. Ever since he had been born; born a freak to the world. Even their Father had been disgusted by the youngest Dixon, barely looking at the boy unless it was to lay into him. Their Mother had always been the one to look after Daryl when he was younger, and then when she died, it had been down to Merle.

Seventeen-year-old Merle who was in and out of juvie had to look after his kid brother, barely five and unused to the harsh cruelty of the world. Sure, Daryl hadn't seemed to be sad over his Mother's death, but Merle could read Daryl better than anyone, and he could see the tell-tale yearning in the very corner of his eyes. He heard the soft whines when the five-year-old woke up from a nightmare of the fire - a fire that nearly claimed him, if he hadn't jumped to Merle's waiting arms from their bedroom window.

Merle was eighteen when he went to court against his Father, filing for the custody of his little brother. The scars he saw on his baby brother's back, he hated them, and he was not letting his Father lay another hand on his brother - now six, and clinging to Merle like he was a life raft and Daryl was trapped in the deep ocean.

No, Papa Dixon would never lay another hand against his baby brother, and if he did, Merle would gladly go to prison for the murder of his Father.

It was how they were where they were today.

Daryl pouring over his biology textbook, desperately trying to make sense of his body whilst Merle made something to drink.

"Y'all right over ter, baby bro?"

"Don't call me that."

Merle chuckled a little, watching Daryl's fingers tense against his scalp as the familiar nickname slipped from Merle's tongue. Of course, Daryl was much more articulate than Merle; he always had been, he needed to be. The kids at that school hated Daryl for his background - no doubt they knew the extent of damage in his past - and so he had come home one day, demanding to 'learn t' speak prop'ly'. Merle had laughed at first before he realised Daryl was serious.

The next day, he'd take the seven mile trek to the local town, signing up for a library card and getting six or seven books out on the English language, anything about articulation. Daryl had poured over the books for hours on end, curled into Merle's side as he spoke out loud, committing certain phrases and such to memory.

Of course, Daryl still slipped into speaking just as he used to when he was younger, but Merle had been around the school gates enough to know that Daryl never let his knowledge of the English language slip.

"What cha doing o'er ter?"

"Studying."

"You've ben studying biology for te past thr' weeks."

The teen looked up at his brother, pulling a face.

"Why d'ya think that is?"

Merle sighed a little and moved over to sit next to Daryl tugging him into his lap.

He was a skinny boy; tall and slightly lean, but a little weak. His strength was his knowledge - especially in his brawls. Merle had seen Daryl topple a guy almost twice his size, a few punches and prods to the right precursors on the kid's body and he'd collapsed, barely able to breathe.

Daryl Dixon may be small, skinny, and scare a bit too easily, but he wasn't someone you fought if you didn't want a three day stint in the hospital.

"Yer not a freak, Darl."

Daryl snorted and turned in Merle's lap, tugging the book onto his own lap.

Merle didn't need to look at the page to know what Daryl was reading on.

"Used ta tell me all the time I was."

Merle pressed a kiss to the back of Daryl's hair; the bright blond locks had begun turning brown, a light auburn colour, but the summer sun had bleached it bright again, his roots going back to an off white colour.

Just like Mam's had.

"Ya never believed it tho."

"You don't know what I believed."

Daryl slammed the book onto the table, storming off from the kitchen. The front door of their tiny house opened and slammed shut and Merle got up, shifting into the living room to watch Daryl cling to his crossbow, storming into the surrounding woods.

He sighed and sat down with a beer, making a note of the time.

"He'll com round."

xox

Merle had fallen asleep, groaning when he felt something hot next to him. He opened his eyes to stare at Daryl, barely awake as his eyes skimmed the words on a page of a book. Merle's eyes slipped to the clock on the wall, snorting when he saw it was the early hours of the morning.

"Nough reading. Ya got school tamorra."

Daryl gave a huff, but he dog-eared the page and chucked it onto the living room table.

Merle shuffled around, standing up before lifting his brother into his arms. The younger's hands slipped around Merle's chest, and his head rested on his shoulder.

"Ya get anything?"

"Couple o' squirrels - rat bastards escaped me mostly."

Merle snorted a little, pressing a kiss to Daryl's hair.

"This weeken', we'll go hunting. Proper game."

"Deer?"

"Mhm. Deer, ducks, the lot."

Daryl smiled and pressed a little closer to Merle as he was carried upstairs, letting his eyes close as Merle collapsed onto the bed in the elder's room. Daryl was happy enough to curl up, head on his brother's chest, and Merle didn't care how old they were.

His hands slowly swept through Daryl's hair, watching his blue eyes close; his chest began falling slowly, up and down.... up and down.... up and down...

Merle reached over to turn off the lamp, tucking the blankets around him and his brother, fingers curled gently in Daryl's hair as he drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The alarm went off way too quickly and Merle groaned, rolling over to glare at the clock. He bashed it was his fist before collapsing against the pillows.

He'd done good for himself, gotten clean after juvie, and managed to start up a small hunting business - mainly selling his Dad's old, unused gear and using that to buy more stock. The shop needed opening, running and Merle needed to get Daryl to school.

Merle's head turned to the side, and he all but jumped out of bed when he realised that Daryl wasn't there.

He rushed around, changing his shirt before running downstairs, trying not to panic, before he saw Daryl at the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. He was already dressed; blue and red checked shirt, military trousers and his hunting boots.

"Don't do that ter me, baba."

"Don't call me baba."

It was their Mother's old pet name for Daryl, and Merle had continued calling him it, well on after her death. It was a name Daryl had always found comfort in, and Merle was never going to take that away from him.

"Yer could be 60, and I'd still call ya baba. Y'all always be mah baby brother."

Daryl rolled his eyes, turning to lean on the counter, arms crossed.

"Yea well, I'm a teenager now."

The way Daryl spoke didn't suit him anymore. Merle much preferred it when he spoke how he was raised - like a country bumpkin, their Mamma used to say.

"Yeh? Well yer still ma baby brother, Cher."

"Don't."

Merle rolled his eyes, moving to get a coffee as Daryl washed his bowl up - he was like that. He always washed up when he used something, always sorted his hunting kills out straight away. Always tidied up after him - Merle wasn't sure why, but it made his brother much more efficient.

And the house was always much tidier.

"How come yer up so early?"

"Didn't sleep."

Merle frowned, turning to watch his brother as he sipped the scalding black liquid.

"Want me ter call in sick fer yeh?"

"I don't need a day off."

"Uh, yeh ya do. I don't want ta get in trouble for having ya fall asleep. Child endangerment or some bullshit those courts come up with."

Daryl raised an eyebrow and Merle echoed him, before he opened his arms, beckoning him. The teen moved over to bury his face in Merle's neck, breathing in the scent of his brother. Cigarettes, steel cleaner and an ever so slight hint of blood. It was always the same with Merle.

Well, the smell of steel cleaner was new - that was from the shop; Merle was always shining those blades as much as he could, till they could blind someone with the shine.

Shinier they were, the easier they were to sell - _doesn't matteh if the guys are gun rough 'em up a bi'. Long as they shine_.

Daryl had always smiled, and turned away to work on his crossbow.

Merle didn't think he'd ever seen Daryl as content as when he worked that crossbow. Always tightening the string when needing, taking the utmost care of it so it never jammed. He still remembered the day it had come in. Black metal, smooth and cold - the steel felt uncaring. Daryl had picked it up, barely 10, and Merle could tell he fell in love with it.

 _Yer earning that off_.

Daryl had just nodded, not fully listening, just taken aback by the beauty of it.

 _Go off n try it out, Cher_.

Daryl had grabbed the arrows from Merle's outstretched hand and dashed out the back door for the woods. He'd arrived back with a fresh doe, and gladly helped Merle make a venison broth.

xox

Daryl tugged away from Merle's arms, stretching with a yawn.

"See? Yer too tired for school. Go back t' bed, I'll call in befur I head off t' shop."

Daryl shook his head.

"If I ain't going in, I'm helping at the store."

Merle shrugged his shoulders. If Daryl was at the store, he could keep an eye on him, plus he'd probably try one of the new sleeping bags in stock and fall asleep.

"Fine fine. But yer not going hunting until yer've caught up on yer sleep."

"Deal."

Daryl grinned and Merle moved to grab the home phone.

xox

Merle had been right about Daryl. He moved into the back room, leaving Lee in charge before he snorted. Daryl was curled up in a sleeping bag, breathing slowly. Merle grabbed a blanket from the staff room to cover him up in before leaning back on his heels.

He still remembered when Daryl had been born.

The midwife had gone silent, the congratulations half way off her lips before she froze. The doctor had looked at Daryl before glancing at his Mother, then at Merle and his Father, hidden away in the hallway.

He still remembered his Father's outburst hours after they medical care had left.

He had laid into their mother, hard, cursing her for bringing a freak into the family.

_Intersex children are normal, really. You have a son, he's just... Different._

Merle had glared at the wailing child, frightened by his Father's yelling and his Mother's screams. Merle had turned his back, heading to his own room.

xox

Daryl was just three years old when their Mother had all but begged Merle to let him stay in his room. Merle knew the abuse was getting worse, and that if Daryl was kept in their room, still in his baby crib, then the abuse would turn to him.

"Yer a freak get off me!"

Merle had shoved his little brother from the bed many a times, and Daryl had just blinked up at him, moving over to the nest of blankets he had made in the corner. Merle was always amazed how Daryl still tried to get Merle's approval, always turning to him when something happened, looking up at him with those big blue doe eyes.

Blue eyes.

That was the reason his Father first laid his belt against Daryl's back.

Merle had stared in shock as the three-year-old cried out, screaming in pain, kicking around, only to be slammed against the wall as he tried to run.

_Yer real father has bright blue eyes, I bet. Piece of scum, you ain't a Dixon._

Merle had let his little brother crawl into bed with him that night, holding him as tight as he dared, trying not to hurt his back too much.

Still, the next day, the only sign of Daryl having taken the assault last night, was the few red rims around his eyes. He clung to his Mother, as normal for him throughout the day, and slept in her arms.

She tried to protect him, the next time.

Their Father had come home in a drunken rage and Merle knew the moment his drunken ranting had gone quiet that his eyes had landed on the youngest Dixon.

The sounds of a belt cracking in the air, and Daryl's high-pitched screams a little while later only proved Merle's theory.

Then, two years later, the abuse got worse for Daryl.

Merle merely thought that his Father took Daryl to the bedroom to punish him privately.

It wasn't until he walked in that he truly understood.

xox

Daryl was tapping Merle's shoulder, peering up sleepily. The elder shook his head, looking down at his brother.

"What time is it?"

"Bout 2pm, Cher."

Daryl groaned and stretched, easing himself out of the bag, stumbling against Merle as he stood.

"Ey, ey, ease up, ay? Don't want cha go flying and stabbing yerself on something back 'ere."

Daryl chuckled and rubbed his eyes before standing up straight.

"Yer need any help in the store?"

Merle shook his head. "Nah, nah, Lee and I got it."

"I'm going home. Sleeping requires a bed, not a sleeping bag on the floor."

"Yer don't complain when huntin'."

"Huntin' is a sacred ritual, do not make me stab ya."

The brothers exchanged a hug, before Daryl headed out the front. Merle smiled at the faint yell, bye Lee, don't break ya missus; before the sound of the bell on the door rang twice.

xox

It was late when Merle got home, dark, but it was always dark this late in October. He streched as he walked in, stooping to get a beer from the fridge.

_Quiet._

He had to remind himself that Daryl was asleep, his baby brother was upstairs. He kicked his boots off before making his way to Daryl's bedroom. The empty bed didn't rattle him, and he checked his own room.

The made, and obviously empty bed did panic him.

He froze a moment, trying to think if Daryl would go hunting when he was so tired before he realised the shower was running.

Merle all but ran into the bathroom, trying not to seem so panicked - yet he had good reason to.

Daryl was curled up, hugging his legs under the stream, face sporting a black eye and what looked like a broken nose.


	3. Chapter 3

Merle watched the steady rise and fall of Daryl's chest, frowning. He hadn't said word, despite Merle's attempts to get what happened out of him. He hadn't even looked over at him. He'd just dressed and curled up on the couch, head on Merle's lap.

_Was it 'im?_

It was the only time Daryl had looked at him, eyes wide, fear bright, shaking his head before he went back to staring at the wall. Merle had left him be after that; just ran his hand through Daryl's hair before ordering Chinese from the town over.

Thoughts had still been racing round Merle's mind.

Daryl didn't get on well with the kids at school; he often got mocked for his accent, his clothes, where he lived.

Merle had seen a group of boys before, shoving Daryl in between them before he had been thrown to the ground. Merle had got involved, shoving them off before helping Daryl up. He'd gotten no thanks from Daryl, a glare, a shove and an angry brother flipping him off everytime Merle had tried to speak to him.

Was it them again? Or did Daryl really bump into his Father?

He'd reset Daryl's nose, worrying at the fact he didn't make a noise - he merely winced, glaring before settling down with some painkillers. The bruise, Merle hadn't been able to do anything about, and he winced himself when he watched Daryl eat around the split in his lip.

Merle hadn't seen it before.

Now, watching his little brother sleep, Merle felt nothing but pure rage pouring through his body. The wet hair on his shirt was soaking the grey material black, but Merle didn't care. He buried his face into Daryl's hair, holding him tightly.

What kids were out of school at 2pm? As far as Merle was concerned, the school finished at about 3.40; Daryl got home by 4.15 - 4.30 at the latest, unless he was heading out hunting.

Carefully, he shifted up, laying Daryl in the bed before heading downstairs.

He found Daryl's mobile on the side - an iPhone; it was really the only thing Merle ever spent money on. Two phones for each of them. An iPhone for general use; meaning they didn't need to get laptops at all or wi-fi, and then a more durable phone for hunting emergencies. The passcode was easy enough to guess - 2405, their Mother's birthday.

The amount of notifications Daryl had on his Facebook worried the elder. He searched through them, looking for anything of note - it was mainly group and game notifications, a couple of likes on a new profile picture, nothing new - until he saw the picture Daryl had been tagged in.

He was on the ground, hands half covering his face. The bruise could be seen and Merle growled.

Bigby Johnson.

Merle dedicated the name to memory before putting the phone down and heading back upstairs.

xox

Daryl wasn't first up the next morning, and Merle chuckled as he froze in the doorway.

"I didn't sleep well."

Daryl shrugged and moved across the kitchen to get breakfast. Merle stared at his brother; green and black cheques, same old trousers and boots.

"What happened ter ya face, Darl?"

The teen turned his back, merely going about getting his food.

"Yer have a run in with the Johnson kid 'gain?"

He watched Daryl's shoulders stiffen and his hands stop moving.

"How did you-"

"Because he tagged ya on Facebook. Beating into ya. There's a video too," Merle had looked on his own Facebook; the posts popping up from Daryl being in his friend's list. "Them laughing at ya as yer begged them to stap."

"Leave it, Merle. It happens."

"Not to ma baby brother it ain't."

"Merle, they do this."

"Oh no, I ain't letting them get'way with this. I'm heading down to that school with the proof, Cher."

Daryl sagged and turned to watch Merle, tears welling up in his eyes. The elder sighed, moving over to hug him.

"Yer don't deserve this. No matter what that scum said ta'ya. Yer my baby brother and I'm looking after ya. Yer've had enough beatings, I'd say. No more."

Daryl smiled against Merle's bare chest and he sighed.

"Alright, alright. I'll come with you to Principal McCurdy's office."

"McCurdy?"

"She's Scottish. She's really nice, actually. She looks out for me."

Merle nodded before running a hand through Daryl's hair.

"I betta get dressed up then, huh?"

"Go."

Daryl gave a small smile, before the worry returned to his face, turning to eat his breakfast.

xox

"I assure you, Mr. Dixon, I had no idea of the way Mr. Johnson was treating Daryl. This will be addressed immediately."

Principal McCurdy, it seemed, was a bright young woman, with fiery orange hair. Merle had noted how it flickered in the early sun, and he couldn't help but smile a bit. Her skirt was a dark purple, pleated, cut to the knee. White tights turned her pale skin even paler. Her dark eyes, brown, with flecked gold, showed nothing but alarm and worry for Daryl.

"They attacked 'im on 'is way 'ome yesterday."

She frowned, her blazer shifting as she leant her arms on the desk.

"Daryl didn't come in yesterday."

"I kno'. 'e didn't sleep well. I called in sick and 'ad 'im asleep at the shop. 'Bout 2 'e went 'ome. Found 'im crying in the shower when I got in."

Principal McCurdy nodded a little.

"And you have proof that it was Bigby Johnson?"

Merle had merely opened the video on his phone to show her it.

"Very well then; Daryl, go to lesson; tell your teacher you were with me. Mr. Dixon, thank you for coming in, we'll get this sorted this instant."

Merle nodded and stood, stopping outside the door when it closed, hand on Daryl's back.

"Y'all gonna be aight?"

Daryl shrugged, hitching his bag higher onto his shoulder. "I guess so."

Merle smiled and tugged him in for a hug.

"Yer've had worse than any of these asswipes could ever gi' ya. Remember that, ey? Yer stronger than they ar, and if ya just tell meh, things get sorted, Darl. Tell me from now on, eh?"

"I promise, Merle."

Merle smiled, tugging Daryl in for a tight hug.

"I promised Mama I'd look after ya. Got'ta let me keep that promise, eh?"

Daryl smiled, burying his face in Merle's shirt, inhaling the familiar scent.

"I don't want ya ta go."

Merle chuckled at Daryl before he knelt down - though it would' be long before he had to look up at his kid brother.

"Yer'll be fine. If ya need me, text me. I always have my phone on me, Cher."

Daryl nodded and clung to Merle one last time as the bell for second period rang. Doors started opening and Daryl sprinted off down the hallway, disappearing from view.

Merle merely smiled before he turned, heading back outside to the blue hunting truck that he owned.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was sort of inspired by "If I Had a Heart" by Ilerre.  
> I highly recommend this story, the descriptions have stuck with me all night; and I can't stop seeing the mental images in my head. It's a great story, drop it a read and a kudos c: (It's in my bookmarks c;)
> 
> I read it, fell in love with it and wanted to do my own little work about Daryl and Merle.


End file.
